Some People See Better In The Dark
by B.C White
Summary: John has lived for fifteen years watching his best friend forget about him. So when a devastating event results in Sherlock's disappearance, John will do everything possible to get his friend back. But will the truth of Sherlock's wife's death come between them or can John keep it from the consulting detective?
1. The Funeral of Irene Adler

**Author's Note:**

**This fanfiction is a project I've been doing for a little while. I absolutely LOVE Sherlock and thought I might try to write one. I'm not sure if it's worked or not so a review would be really appreciated. Although I am the writer of this fanfiction, my friend has helped me come up with the storyline and characters. So please check her out: GalleonEye.**

**On another note, no hate please! Unless it is constructive it's a waste of my time and yours. :)**

**You should probably know that this is set about sixteen years from where Sherlock Series 2 left off although in my head none of the characters have aged. (Who needs logic?:D)It's also been written around John's life although this may change for certain chapters that I cannot write John into.**

**Enjoy :)**

**B.C White**

John watched his best friend standing alone beside the freshly dug grave. His raven black curls rustled in the harsh winter wind, flailing his navy blue scarf. John approached the man, lifting his hand to pat Sherlock Holmes' shoulder. But Sherlock simply shrugged it off.  
"Don't be sympathetic John. People die. People leave. People go. I'm used to it." He muttered, and with one last sweeping look at the ground, he pulled his silver ring from his finger and threw it to the foot of the gravestone before walking off in the opposite direction. People muttered at he pushed them aside, faces belonging to strangers and friends glared at him before turning to look at John. John sighed and began to walk quickly after Sherlock.  
"Sherlock! Sherlock!" he called as he did so. He was about to break free from the crowd of mourners when a black umbrella was thrust against his chest. Mycroft.

"John." His best friend's brother warned the Doctor. "Let him go. He just needs time to adjust."

"No, Mycroft. He needs friends. And Family." John replied, watching the dark shape trudging away in the snow.

"I know my brother, John. Right now he needs space. Just leave him be."

John sighed and walked back a step. "What about Rebecca?"

"What about her?"

"Mycroft, her mother has just been killed! Don't you think you should be looking after her? Helping her get over it?"

"Can't Sherlock do that?"

"I thought you just said that he needed space? Does that include his daughter or not?" John waited for an answer, but it didn't come. Instead, Mycroft turned slowly to stare at the spire of the old church currently plunging them into silhouette.

"We're being watched. It isn't safe to talk. Meet me here-" Mycroft slipped his hand into his jacket pocket and pulled out a card. He held it out to John who took it, confused. "-at... shall we say, six o'clock?" And before John had a chance to say anything, he was gone. John glanced down at card. It was a coffee shop about ten minutes from his apartment. He tucked it into his pocket and walked back to the crowd which was no dispersing. Only one girl was left, kneeling in the snow by Irene's grave.

"Rebecca." John said quietly as he walked over to her. "Rebecca, you need to leave now. You'll freeze." Rebecca sighed and got to her feet.

"I know. Where- where's Sherlock?" John smiled slightly. He still found it hilarious that Sherlock refused to be called dad. After fifteen years, John thought Sherlock might have got over it.

"He's gone back home."

"I guess I should go after him. Are you coming back?"

"Me? No, no. I need to get back home. I'm sure Mrs Hudson will get you back though." He looked around and found the small woman carefully dabbing a tissue under her eyes. "Mrs Hudson, would you be able to take Rebecca back? Sherlock left in rather a hurry and..."

"...Forgot me."Rebecca finished. There was an awkward silence.

"Of course." Mrs Hudson nodded, blowing her nose again. "Silly Sherlock. I've never seen him like this before..." Mrs. Hudson seemed to go off for a second before snapping back to reality. "Right, let's go and see if we can get a taxi." She said and hurried off with Rebecca following slowly behind her. As they reached the gate, she looked back at her mother's grave. John saw a tear trickle down her cheek which she smeared away immediately.

John grabbed a can of coke form the fridge and sank down on his tatty sofa, naked except for a towel he had pulled on after getting out of the shower. He turned on the TV and flicked through the channels. The news was the only interesting thing on and even that was just about Irene Adler's death. Absent mindedly, he pulled at the top of his towel and mopped up his wet hair. He was just beginning to nod off when his phone vibrated. He opened his eyes and picked it up to scroll through his messages.

_I'm waiting. MH. _

"Shit!" John exclaimed and jumped out of his chair, allowing the towel to fall to the floor. Before he was able to grab it and wrap it around his waist again, he heard a scream. Looking out of the window, he saw a group of teenage girls squealing. It took him a minute to realise they were screaming at him. He hastily shut the curtains which plunged him into darkness. He hands searched for the lights. Then his foot tripped over something and he went flying, groaning as he collided with... the lamp? He switched it onto find the apartment in a state. He'd have to tidy when he got home.

As he pushed the door open, John saw Mycroft immediately. Sherlock's brother looked up at the little shop bell rang and raised an eyebrow before looking at his watch.

"You're late."

"Yeah, sorry about that. I lost track of time." John said as he sat down on the plastic chair.

"I gathered." Mycroft replied and looked down at the table. A waiter came over and took their orders before bringing back two mugs of coffee.

"So, what did you want to talk to me about?"

"About Ms Adler."

"What about her?"

"Less about her... more about her death."

"Mycroft...can this not wait? She died three days ago. Leave it for a while alright?" John tried to get up but Mycroft stopped him.

"Don't you want to know how she died?" John sunk back into his uncomfortable seat.

"It was an accident... Sherlock said..."

"Sherlock lied."

"What? No, no... He wouldn't."

"Tell me John, what were your feelings towards Ms Adler?"

"Sorry? What are you implying? That her and I...that we...?"

"Not at all, John. But did you approve of her?"

"Of course, Mycroft. Why wouldn't I?"

"Because she replaced you."

"What? No she didn't- what are you talking about Mycroft?"

"She replaced you in Sherlock's heart. She left you homeless."

"I was going to move out anyway."

"But-"

"Mycroft, I don't feel comfortable talking about this. Not so soon after the funeral."

"Fine. I needed to give you something anyway." Mycroft reached in his briefcase and pulled out a file. "Don't let anyone else see this. Especially Sherlock. It's top secret. I'm breaking about fifty laws just giving it to you. So look after it." And with that he stood up, nodded at John and left, opening his umbrella so as not to get covered in snow. John watched him leave and then hastily opened the file. '_Top Secret'_ was printed on the front in red. He looked shiftily around.

He remembered what Mycroft has said to him earlier that day. "_We're being watched."_ Was he being watched now? He quickly put the loose papers back in the file, took a sip from his coffee so as not to appear rude and left.

Bang.

Bang. Bang. Bang.

John lifted his head of the pillow in confusion. The thumping continued. Someone was knocking on the door. He pulled himself out of bed and whisked on his blue tartan dressing gown and matching slippers.

"Coming!" He called as he ran a hand through his messy bed hair. Shoddily, he shoved the key in the lock and hauled the door open, only to be hit squarely in the chest...by a girl? A crying girl? Rebecca Holmes.

"Please...John." She said in between sobs, still clinging tightly to his torso. "You have to help me."

"What's wrong?" He asked, trying to reach over her shoulder to close the door. If there was one thing John Watson hated, it was a draft.

"It's Sherlock. He's...gone." John let go of his Goddaughter.

"Wh- What?"

"He's packed his things and gone. No note. Nothing. He's gone!"

"Wait, wait, wait. You mean he's just vanished?"

"I woke up this morning and he was just gone. Everything was gone as well."

"Have you told Mrs Hudson?"

"No...I...I panicked. I thought maybe he would be at yours."

"Right, come in and have a seat. I'll ring Mrs Hudson and tell her I'm coming over." He gestured to the sofa before realising that he'd left his dirty underwear there. He hastily shoved it in the pocket of his dressing gown, creating a bulge. If Rebecca noticed, and she almost certainly did, she didn't say anything. She sat down silently and stared out of the window. "Can I get you anything? A drink? Some food?"

"A drink would be nice." She croaked.

"Right... beer? Wait, no. Not old enough. How about a coke? You look like you could do with some caffeine." She nodded and John threw her a can. Then he awkwardly picked up the phone and dialled Mrs Hudson's number.

"Hello? Mrs Hudson? Hi, yeah. It's John here. Yes, it's..." He glanced at Rebecca. "Well, the thing is, Sherlock's gone missing...Yes, I know... Yes, that had crossed my mind... Yes I-... Right, I was going to suggest that... Yep, we'll be round in five...Ok, bye Mrs Hudson...Ok bye...Bye." he hung up and sighed. "That woman... I couldn't get a word in edgeways!" Rebecca almost cracked a smile. "I told her we'd be there in-"

"Five minutes. Yeah, I heard."

"Ok, so are you ready?"

"Yeah." Rebecca got up slowly and walked to the door.

"Ok... Well, let me get dressed and then we can go. "

Two minutes later John was dressed and ready to leave. He was about to call for Rebecca when his eye caught sight of the file lying unopened on his desk. Hesitantly he picked it up and slid it under his coat so the fifteen year old wouldn't see.

"Rebecca! Come on, we don't want to be late!" he called as he fumbled around inside his pocket, looking for his keys, before remembering he had hung them on the hook Sherlock had got for him last Christmas.

"It's lovely to see you again John." Mrs Hudson muttered as she led them up the stairs John knew all too well.

"Mrs Hudson, we spoke only yesterday."

"Oh, goodness! Silly me, I could have sworn I hadn't seen you in weeks."

"I went to Germany for a month. You remember?"

"Of course, you sent me that tea set."

"Yes..."

"Well, here we are." She said as she unlocked the door to John's old flat and to Rebecca's home. John breathed in the sweet smell that he had secretly missed for fifteen years. The truth was John had never really gotten over the fact that Sherlock had fallen in love and forgotten about his friend and colleague.

"See, I told you everything was gone." Rebecca said stiffly as she entered the room. John took in the sight. It was bare. Every piece of rubbish that had piled up over the years had gone. Even Sherlock's favourite chair had vanished. John didn't even want to think about how Sherlock managed to sneak that out. The most painful absence was the skull which had sat on the fireplace. John had begun to feel rather fond of that skull.

"We need to contact Lestrade. Tell him what's happened." John said. "Then we need to work out what we're going to do with you." He looked at Rebecca. "You can't stay with me; the apartment isn't big enough... Mrs Hudson?" Mrs Hudson looked at him for a second in confusion before realisation hit her.

"Oh no, John. No. I'm sorry but I can't. Not in my flat. No."

"Then can she stay here?"

"Not without an adult. I'm sorry, but laws are laws. She can't stay here. Unless..." She looked at John.

"Oh no...no no no no! I can't Mrs Hudson! I have my own apartment! I can't!"

"Then sell the apartment!"

"I can't! I can't pay for the rent."

"Oh, don't worry about that. Sherlock always pays six months in advance. Doesn't trust himself."

"Right. Well..." He looked at Rebecca. She'd kept silent this whole time, watching the situation. Observing it. Just like her father. John sighed. "Fine! I'll move back in!"

"Really?" Rebecca looked up.

"You knew I was going to say that. Don't pretend to be surprised."

"Oh alright, I knew as soon as you walked in that you were going to say yes. You miss this place to much. Although I can't think why. It's a dump."

"You should have seen it when we first moved in." John smiled.

"I'll just go and put some tea on. Rebecca dear, why don't you go and sort out your room?"

"What's wrong with her room?"

"Sherlock turned it upside down when he was packing apparently. It's a real state." Mrs Hudson explained before exiting the room, leaving John alone, suddenly aware of the file inside his tweed jacket. He pulled it out and began reading.

_The Death of Irene Adler._

**Did you enjoy it? I've already got Chapter 2 written so I will post that soon. Please review, it will improve my writing and the storyline! **


	2. He's Back

**Author's Note:**

**As I promised, chapter 2. I hope you enjoy it because I certainly loved writing it! :D Please review? Thanks!**

John put down the file and stared at nothing in particular. He looked back down at the series of horrific pictures- the remains of Sherlock's wife. Nobody had told him it had been this bad. Her corpse was almost unrecognisable. He shuddered, understanding now why Sherlock could never be allowed to see this. He'd go insane.

The information hadn't been that helpful and Irene Adler's murderer was still anonymous. As well as this, from what Mycroft had told to him since he'd given him the file a week ago, the police were making no effort to either. As far as they were concerned, she was killed by enemies she'd made and it wasn't of national importance.

John stood and drew the curtains, looking reminiscently at Baker Street below. Then he made his way to his old room which was now occupied by Rebecca. He heard her light breathing as he turned the knob. She was sleeping soundly, her pale face illuminating the room like a porcelain doll. Then he looked at his old room. He'd done this every night and yet still it shocked him how much the room had changed. His cream walls were now a dark red, the dark curtains draped like shadows. He didn't like it, although he would never admit that.

He walked slowly to the room he was now staying in. Sherlock had taken the larger of the two rooms when they had first met. John felt odd sleeping in the same bed Sherlock had. He'd get used to it over time, although he wasn't expecting to stay long. If Sherlock didn't come back, and he was beginning to doubt his friend's return, Rebecca would be put into care. Mycroft had already arranged it all. John contemplated this as he tried to get to sleep...

Screeech. Screeech.

John was woken by the sounds of a violin. He rubbed his eyes as he heaved his sleep deprived body from the bed and staggered down the stairs into the living room. There he was greeted by furniture. Lots of furniture. Piled up on top of each other as if to represent a palace. And sitting on top of this 'palace', eyes closed, was Sherlock, still swiftly playing the violin.

"Sherlock... When did you...?"

"About two hours ago. I was dropped off by a friend." The way Sherlock said friend suggested to John that this 'friend' was probably now dead.

""But you... You just left." Then the whole truth of it dawned on Sherlock. "You left!" He yelled. "You disappeared. No note! No message! Nothing! You left _me_ to look after _your_ daughter whilst you ran away like a child! I had to sell my apartment to come back here to look after Rebecca! You're not the only one who's lost someone Sherlock! Rebecca lost her mother! And you made her lose her father too!" John roared, too angry to listen to the sense trying to weave its way into his raging mind. "What could possibly be so important that you left your daughter alone to mourn her mother's death and your best friend to look after her? Did it not cross your mind that I might have plans? That I might not want to look after Rebecca? Mycroft was going to have her taken into care, Sherlock! Do you have any idea how serious this is? You have a daughter now Sherlock. You've had a daughter for fifteen years. And you left her to play the adult whilst you ran of being the child!" Silence.

"Finished?" Sherlock muttered.

"No, actually I-"

"Good. Because you were getting rather boring. Now stop acting like my father and start acting like Dr John Watson my friend." John stared at him, astounded.

"Sherlock, we've had police out searching for you!"

"I know. Did you really have to do that? It was a horrible complication."

"Oh! I'm sorry! I didn't realise it would be an inconvenience! I guess I was just worried that you might have gone and got yourself killed!" he shouted before adding sarcastically "But I can see now how selfish I was. I should have left you alone and minded my own business."

"Yes, you should have."

"Well, I'm glad we sorted that out!"

"Dad?" Both men turned to find Rebecca standing in the door frame. She had heard every word.

"Hello, Rebecca." Sherlock said rather stiffly. John raised an eyebrow at him. He sighed and jumped down from the furniture tower. "I'm...sorry... I left you." He managed to mutter, pain rippling through his face. John rolled his eyes. Was it really that hard for him to apologise?

"No Sherlock." Rebecca said to her father. "You can't just come in here and say sorry and expect everything to be forgiven."

"Isn't that the idea of an apology?" Sherlock replied, confused.

"Not when you leave me without an explanation!"

"Who says it had anything to do with you?" Sherlock snapped. Rebecca looked at him in disgust.

"I...I really hate you!"

"You don't mean that." Sherlock replied, looking bored.

"Yes I do! You're not my father Sherlock! If you were, you wouldn't have run off and left me to worry!"

"I left John here to look after you! I knew you'd be fine!"

"Well I didn't. You're a selfish, nasty piece of work and I... I hate you!" She screamed and ran out, still in her pyjamas.

"You idiot, Sherlock."

"I said sorry didn't I?"

"You're supposed to be a father, Sherlock. Start behaving like one."

"I didn't want to be a father, John." The consulting detective pointed out.

"Even so, you are. And right now you're doing a rather rubbish job." Sherlock sighed.

"I guess you'd better go and see if you can bring her back."

"What? Why me? You're the one who stared all this!" John yelled, incredulously.

"It wasn't my fault. I had to get away."

"And where exactly did you go Sherlock? You could have told me!"

"It doesn't matter now, John. What matters is I'm back."

"Right now, I wish you weren't back."

"You don't mean that." A smug look tugged at the corners of Sherlock's mouth.

"I do! You've been here an hour and already Rebecca has run off! I know you two never really got on but you could at least make an effort! Now go after her!"

"No, let her go. She'll come back soon enough." John surrendedred.

"Fine! But would you mind telling me where you've been?"

"I've already told you John, it's not important. I've just been away. And... Well, I think I've realised something."

"Oh yes? Well thank god your disappearance was worth it!" John exclaimed sarcastically.

"It really was, John." Sherlock said as he got closer to the ex army doctor.

"Sherlock?" John murmured, confused.

"You see, I had time to think about what I want. About what I've wanted for fifteen years." He was now centimetres from John's face. "I want you, John."

**Oh, by the way sorry if I didn't warn you that it was a Johnlock fanfic (I ship it so hard :3) But I really don't want it to turn all smutty and slash. I'd like to keep it true to the series. Please review! Again, thanking you muchly :)**


	3. A Favour For Mycroft

**Author's Note:**

**This chapter is a bit shorter than the previous ones. It was originally meant to be much longer but I decided to split the storylien of this chapter into two. Sorry if you would have prefered one longer chapter but I have decided to do it like this :)**

**Also, I've said it before and I'll probably mention it again- I write the fanfiction but my friend GalleonEye comes up with the plots with me so please also check out her work. She has three fanfictions on the go- a Bellamort one, A Sweeney Todd one and a New Generation one as well!**

**Enjoy and possibly review? Thanks!**

John pulled the curtain back an inch with his index finger, watching Sherlock storm away. Once the consulting detective had turned a corner, John finally let his lungs breathe again. Maybe he hadn't handled that very well.

Instead of answering Sherlock, he'd continued his conversation as if Sherlock hadn't just admitted his love.

"Sherlock, you need to go after her."

"What? Who?"

"Rebecca! Your daughter!" John exclaimed, exasperated.

"Oh right, her." He looked at John. "Oh alright, but we'll continue this conversation when I get back." He said and grabbed his coat and scarf, leaving John standing alone contemplating over what had just happened.

As soon as Sherlock had turned the corner, John picked up his mobile and ran through his contacts, stopping at Mycroft and dialling his number. He then held it to his ear, peering down at Baker Street.

"John?"

"Sherlock's back."

"What? Are you sure?" came his voice from the other end of the phone line.

"Yes I'm sure! I've just had a conversation with him for Christ sakes!"

"You didn't tell him about...?"

"No, of course I didn't Mycroft! It would kill him to know."

"Good. Where is he now?"

"I sent him after Rebecca. They had a fight."

"Ah, ok. Could you do me a favour?" John hesitated.

"What sort of favour?"

"Look out for him, John."

"I already do that." John snapped trough the phone.

"Follow him. Make sure he is completely unaware of the details of Adler's death."

"Wait, you want me to follow Sherlock Holmes?"

"Problem?"

"_Sherlock Holmes_! I'm not a trained assassin! He'd sniff me out straight away!"

"Please, John, just try." Mycroft said.

"Fine. I'll keep an eye out."

"Go now."

"What?

"See where he's going."

"He's following Rebecca. And besides, I can't. I'm got work."

"Work?"

"Yes, Mycroft! Not all of us can choose when we want to do our jobs! Some of us have a schedule!"

"Are you sure you couldn't just follow him for a little bit?" Mycroft asked.

"No."

"You've left me with no choice John." Mycroft sighed. "I'll have to watch him myself." John almost laughed at the idea of Mycroft spying on his brother.

"Well, I'm glad we sorted that out." John said bluntly and hung up. He then gathered his things and pulled on a woolly jumper. He grabbed his new pair of keys from the dish on the table and strolled out of the flat, slamming the door behind him.

**Yeah, it's short. And not the most interesting chapter. But trust me, the next one (which I am currently in the middle of) will be much more exciting! Well, I think I deserve a cup of tea! Please review and continue reading! It means a lot to me! Also, check out my other fanfiction Impossible Desires.**

**Thanks again!**


	4. Skinning the Story

**Author's Note:**

**What did I say? This chapter is longer and more exciting. It's also the first time we see a little Johnlock flirting in action!:3**

**I'm quite a quick writer so hopefully there'll be another chapter tomorrow although I have school (It got cancelled today because of the snow) :D :D**

**Enjoy and please review! It only takes a second but makes my day!**

Sherlock stormed down the pavement, scuffing his shoes on the pavement. He kept thinking about John's reaction. Or lack of! Maybe he shouldn't have said it... And now he'd been dragged into finding Rebecca! It wasn't really fair. He'd never wanted children or had any experience with them! When Irene had told him she was pregnant, he'd begged her to have an abortion. She'd refused as he knew she would. He'd warned her that he was bad with children but she hadn't listened. Instead Sherlock had watched his relationship with Irene go rapidly downhill. And now his wife was dead, leaving him to look after the daughter he'd never really wanted.

He tracked Rebecca's phone movements until it stopped... At the Graveyard Irene was buried in. Sherlock rolled his eyes. How could this emotional wreck of a girl be his own flesh and blood? She was intelligent enough, but Irene's death had changed her. Something Sherlock would never have allowed to happen to himself. She must have gotten it from Irene.

By now he was entering the graveyard. He could see the grave that belonged to his wife, the one he hadn't visited since the funeral. Crouched by the gravestone was his daughter. Her dark brown hair was soaked in snow and her shoulders were shaking. Sherlock wondered whether he should go and talk to her, but instead he stood a distance from her. It reminded him of when he'd had to fake his own death. When he'd watched John mourn for a man who was still alive. Except this time, there was no miracle. Irene Adler was well and truly dead.

Sherlock was so caught up in his own thoughts that he didn't even notice his brother race past him. He didn't notice his daughter begin to scrape away at the grave, attempting to dig her mother up. He didn't hear her scream as Mycroft lifted her and dragged her from the grave. He didn't hear John's shout as he ran down the track. Finally, he was woken as John grabbed his arm.

"Sherlock! Sherlock!"

"John? What are you doing here? I thought you had work."

"Are you alright?" John asked.

"Of course I'm alright. Why wouldn't I be?" John looked at him for a minute.

"Didn't you just see...?"

"See what?"

"Rebecca... She tried to..."

"What? What about Rebecca? Is she alright?"

"She tried to dig up Irene's grave..." John muttered, shocked that Sherlock, who was normally the most observant person in the world, hadn't noticed this. Sherlock looked over to his wife's grave. Sure enough, the earth had been meddled with. Grass had been stripped from the surface, leaving ugly mud in its place.

"I'll have to sort that out later..."

"Sherlock? Did you not just hear me? _Rebecca_ _tried to dig up Irene's grave_. Mycroft's taken her to the police station."

"Why? Couldn't he just drop her off at the flat?"

"Sherlock, this is really serious! Mycroft is considering putting her into an asylum. Only temporarily of course." John added hastily

"What?"

"She tried to dig up her mother's grave, Sherlock! That isn't exactly normal teenage behaviour."

"That depends on the teenager." Sherlock said and walked over to the grave his daughter had just maimed. "What was she looking for?"

"No idea. You're normally the one who works it out, not me."

"Yes, but I'm distracted. And when I'm distracted, I never perform as well."

"What's distracting you?" John asked, looking around to see anything that could possibly be annoying Sherlock.

"You are." Sherlock said and when John looked back at Sherlock, he found himself being stared at by a pair of crystal grey eyes.

"Sherlock..."John warned, looking around to make sure nobody had heard. "Not here."

"Why not?"

"Let's just...talk about it later. When we've dealt with Rebecca." Sherlock sighed and nodded. The pair walked down the path and out into the street.

"by the wya, you never answer my question. Why didn't you go to work?"

"I did."

"But...?"

"I managed to get someone to cover for me."

"Why?"

"I... I was worried about you." John admitted. Sherlock smiled like a little school girl.

"I like the sound of that."

"Sod off, Sherlock!" John exclaimed and shoved Sherlock playfully. The two men then went into a fit of giggles, stopping only to find a cab.

"Take us to Paddington Green Police Station." John informed the cabbie as they got inside the vehicle.

"Paddington Green? Why Paddington Green?"

"I just got a text from Lestrade." He held his phone up to Sherlock.

_SH's brother just arrived with daughter. Station in uproar. Care to explain? Lestrade._

"Station in uproar? What does he mean 'uproar'? Couldn't he be a little bit more specific?" Sherlock moaned.

"It's just a text Sherlock." John replied and looked out of the window. "Why would Rebecca try to dig up Irene's grave?"

"Desperation? Insanity? It's more likely she was just trying to find out what happened to Irene. Seeing as neither of us have been told! She was probably looking for evidence. For a story to keep hold of. Although Irene's death has changed her. She's not the same anymore." John snorted.

"Like you'd know! You barely talked to her Sherlock. Irene brought that child up on her own."

"I had other stuff to do."

"More important than your daughter?" John asked.

"Much more important." John sighed, knowing that the conversation wasn't getting anywhere. "Just, be sensitive."

"I can be sensitive."

"Sherlock, I'm not joking. This is serious. You need to be considerate. You owe it to Rebecca."

"Fine! Fine!"Sherlock muttered and leaned his head back. Suddenly, he jumped forward, leaping into conversation. "What right does Mycroft have to put Rebecca in an asylum? She's my daughter! If I don't give permission then they can't legally take her away. And taking her Paddington Green! That's a prison for terrorists! Just because Lestrade is there... with Anderson..." Sherlock continued to mumble inaudibly.

"Sherlock, we're here." John said as he pulled out a fiver to give the cabbie. He turned to find Sherlock half way up the steps. "Wait for me, Sherlock!" He began yelling but ended in a mutter when he realised Sherlock wasn't listening.

He raced up the stairs after his best friend only to find him standing face to face with Anderson.

"Hello, Anderson."

"Psychopath." Anderson nodded at Sherlock before turning to John. "You and the freak can go through to Lestrade.

"That you Anderson." Sherlock said through gritted teeth and shoved past him. John followed, ignoring Anderson who was now nursing a bruised shoulder.

**Hope you enjoyed it! Please review! I'm also looking for a new fanfiction to read as I just finished the last one I was reading so if you have one you think is good or know one which you enjoyed please add it to the review because I desperatly need another fanfiction in my life! Thanks for reading! I really appreciate it!**


	5. The Mentalist

**Author's Note:**

**I've realised that this chapter has the same title as a popular television series. I didn't notice at the time and I didn't mean to have any connection with it! But I don't really want to change it because it goes so well with this chapter! Anyway, I hope you enjoy this chaper!**

**And please review? Even if it's just a word or a sentence, feedback is really appreciated! :)**

Sherlock pushed open the door to Lestrade's office and stormed in, followed by John and Anderson. Inside, Mycroft was having a yelling competition with Donovan. Lestrade was sat at his desk, head in hands. He was obviously fed up and looked a second away from firing Donavon. John noticed Rebecca's absence almost straight away. He looked at Sherlock to see if he's noticed too, but he seemed oblivious.

"Finally!" Lestrade exclaimed, standing. "Donovan! Shut it! I've had just about enough of your voice today, thank you very much!" Then he turned to Sherlock. "And tell your brother to quieten down."

Sherlock raised an eyebrow. "Why can't you tell him yourself?" Lestrade glared as Donovan turned back to Mycroft.

"You can't come crashing in here like you own the place, Mr Holmes! I'm sorry, but this is a police Station, not a fair ground!"

"Do you have no idea who I am?" Mycroft asked coldly.

"You're Sherlock's brother. And trust me, I feel sorry for you. But you don't have the right to come in here, bringing some crazy girl off the street with you!" Donovan yelled.

"Donovan, that crazy girl happens to be my daughter." Sherlock muttered quietly.

"I know." Donovan replied, smugly. "And she's as weird as you." Sherlock lunged at Donovan, held back only by John who held his grip on Sherlock's waist.

"Sherlock, don't be stupid! You'll get arrested." John said as he struggled to restrain his friend.

"Where is she?" Sherlock spat before turning to Lestrade and Mycroft. "Where is she?"

"We had to lock her up. She was going insane."

"She was screaming and crying. You should keep your child under control." Anderson muttered. Sherlock turned to face him, his face full of disgust.

"Do you want me to bruise your other shoulder? That way you'll be symmetrical."

"Sherlock! That's a warning!" Lestrade said as he sat back down in his chair, putting both hands on his desk. Sherlock sighed and pulled himself out of John's embrace.

"Will someone tell me what happened to Rebecca?" Sherlock asked, looking at Mycroft.

"She... got a little upset."

"She started digging up your wife's grave." Lestrade finished. Mycroft glared at him.

"Is she alright?"

"She's just a little shaken." Lestrade said. "Anderson, go and bring her out would you?" Anderson began to protest but one look from Lestrade made him shut up. Two minutes later he returned, pulling a wild fifteen year old behind him. She was a state. He clothes were covered in mud and her hair was soaked and knotted. As soon as she saw Sherlock she burst into tears and ran at him, embracing him in a tight hug. Sherlock slowly wrapped his arms around his daughter. This was the first hug he'd ever given her. Actually it was possibly one of the first hugs he'd ever given anyone. Then Rebecca whispered something to her father, just loud enough for John to overhear.

"I saw her, Sherlock. I saw mum... She...She" Then she began screaming and crying again. John looked at Mycroft.

"Mycroft, she saw-" Already Mycroft had gotten involved, pulling the father and daughter apart.

"Lestrade, put her back in the cell!" Mycroft roared. Lestrade nodded and hauled Rebecca up into his arms, taking her back to a cell. John kept hold of Sherlock, listening to Rebecca's echoed screams as they slowly got quieter.

Eventually Sherlock spoke.

"Mycroft, tell me."

"Tell you what?" Mycroft replied, no emotion coming across either his face voice.

"Whatever it is you're keeping from me!" Mycroft sighed and turned to Lestrade who had just returned.

"I'm leaving now. Sorry to have caused any inconvenience. I'll send someone round to sort her out." He grabbed his umbrella from where it had been leaning on the wall and began to leave. John let go of Sherlock. That was his first mistake. Sherlock ran at his brother and slammed him into the wall.

"Tell me Mycroft. I'm your brother! Tell me!" He growled. Mycroft stared calmly at him.

"Don't think for a second, Sherlock, that you can threaten me." He said before pushing past his younger brother. "Good day, everyone." He nodded and was gone.

Twenty minutes later Sherlock and John were back at 221b Baker Street. John had suggested putting on the kettle and was now fiddling with the plug.

"Sherlock, could you help me? The kettle's not working"" He called but got no reply. "Sherlock?" He sighed, put down the broken kettle and walked back into the living room. "Sherlock, didn't you hear me? I said I need help-" John looked at Sherlock. He had a tear trickling down his cheek. On the coffee table in front of him, lying open, was Irene Adler's file.

"Why didn't you tell me?" Sherlock muttered, still staring at the file.

"I... I didn't want you to know."

"Don't you think I had a right to know?" Sherlock yelled. John winced, hurt by Sherlock's tone.

"I...I thought..."

"You thought it would be better to leave me wondering how she died? Why she died? Did it not cross your mind that I have been blaming myself for weeks? Because that's why I left, John! I left because I thought it was my fault!" He yelled. John didn't know whether to laugh or cry. This was the most honest and pure thing Sherlock had ever said to him.

"Sherlock... I didn't..."

"Didn't what? Think? I got that much John! That's your problem! You never think!" He yelled and stormed out of the flat. John heard his heavy footsteps stomp down the stairs and then the front door slammed shut. John sighed and slumped down in his favourite arm chair. He then picked up the file that had caused him so mu h trouble lately and flicked through the pages again.

He gagged as he came across the picture of Irene's corpse. It was obvious how she'd been killed. She'd been skinned. By an old enemy, the file said. John remembered how Rebecca had looked at the police station and what she'd said to Sherlock. Mycroft had written in the report that the government hadn't seen a need to give her a coffin due to the body's condition. So if someone had dug deep enough...

John imagined what it must have been like for Rebecca to see her mother, skinned. It was horrible enough just looking at the picture. No wonder Rebecca had been crazy. He picked up his phone and dialled Mycroft's number.

No answer.

Instead, a text came through. He opened the message.

_She's been taken to Broadmoor Hospital. How's Sherlock? MH._

**Nooo! Sherlock and John had a fight! I know, it hurt me. I ship them so hard, it hurts my insides! What did you think of the chapter and the fanfic so far? Tell me please :)**


	6. A Raised Eyebrow

**Author's Note:**

**This chapter had taken slightly longer to write than the others. I'm not entirely sure why; it's no longer than any of the toehrs. I found it difficult to write. But I hope you enjoy it! Please review! Pretty Please?**

John leant his head against the window, watching London whizz past him. The taxi was stuffy and his legs had so little room they were aching. A shot of agony soared through his head every time the taxi went over a speed bump, causing his head to collide with the pane of safety glass. Next to him, Sherlock sat, his fingers tapping away on his thigh. Clearly agitated, he picked up his phone and scrolled through his messages, clicking on one and reading it through several times. John knew exactly what it was.

_Missing you. How's Rebecca? Paris is amazing! See you on Saturday. Xxx_

The last text Irene had sent her husband before she died. John had lost count of the times Sherlock had opened and read the message.

"Sherlock, it's going to be fine." John said, still looking out of the window. Sherlock didn't reply. "She'll only be there for a couple of weeks. Just until the Psychiatrist thinks she's well enough to come home."

"And when will that be John? You can't know it will only be a couple of weeks. It will be a month... and then half a year..."

"Sherlock, you're over reacting!"

"Overreacting? My daughter is in Hospital! There's nothing wrong with her!"

"She saw her Mother's skinned body!" John exclaimed before realising what he'd said. "Sorry." Sherlock didn't reply. The rest of the journey to the hospital the taxi was filled with silence.

Mycroft met them at the entrance to the hospital.

"What's he doing here?" Sherlock muttered.

"He's the one who's letting you in, Sherlock. Don't get on his bad side."

"My brother doesn't have a bad side." John doubted that was true. As they reached the entrance, Mycroft balanced his umbrella against the wall so he was able to shake his brother's hand. John wondered briefly why Mycroft always seemed to have that umbrella with him but the thought vanished as Sherlock pushed his brother's hand aside and shoved his way past.

"Sherlock!" John warned but his friend was gone. He helped Mycroft up- he'd fallen over by the force of his brother. "Sorry, he's just a bit concerned."

"Figures. He hasn't cared about that girl at all since she was born, but now it suits him, she's all he thinks about." Mycroft muttered as they entered the Hospital.

"You know that's not true. He's looking after her for Irene." John replied. Mycroft ignored this and continued walking.

"This way." He said as they caught up with Sherlock who was waiting impatiently at the point where the corridor broke in three directions. Mycroft gestured towards the right and the three men quickened their pace (John and Mycroft to keep up with Sherlock, Sherlock to get to his daughter faster.)

As they entered the ward, they were met by six girls, each sitting in their own bed. They stared at the strange men who had just walked in. A nurse who was dealing with one of the children walked confidently up to them.

"Can I help you?" Her voice was irritatingly high and John knew Sherlock would say this to her face. He lifted his foot and stood on Sherlock's toes. Sherlock looked at him questioningly but John just shook his head and glared as if to say "Don't you dare!" Mycroft rolled his eyes.

"We're here to visit Rebecca Holmes. I made a family appointment earlier this week."

"And are you all family?" She asked.

"I'm her father." Sherlock said impatiently. The woman simply nodded and looked at Mycroft, an eyebrow raised.

"I'm her uncle."

"And you?" John looked at Sherlock.

"He's... with me."

"_With _you?" The woman asked looking from Sherlock to John.

"Er, yes." And before any questions could be asked, Sherlock had walked over to a door with his daughter's name on the front.

"You have three minutes." The woman said. John turned.

"Three minutes? He hasn't seen his daughter for a week! This is his chance to say goodbye!"

"Does he know that?" The lady asked.

"No... I couldn't tell him."

"I'll be back in three minutes." John sighed, knowing it was no good. He turned to Mycroft.

"Three minutes? Could you have gotten a bit longer?"

"It will be easier this way. Rebecca says she's happy, Sherlock says goodbye. Done."

"You really have no understanding of emotions do you?" John said, amazed.

"I'm a Holmes. Of course I don't."Mycroft replied before joining his brother inside. John followed, suddenly tense with worry. He stood in the corner, watching Sherlock talk to Rebecca. He watched the clock. The nurse was being generous; they'd already had five extra minutes. John was just about to ask Mycroft what was going on when the door opened again, revealing another girl in a hospital gown.

"Hi, Becky." She started before realising Rebecca was busy. "Oh, sorry! I didn't mean to interrupt!" She giggled awkwardly. "I'll speak to you in a minute, ok?" Rebecca smiled and nodded as her friend left the room.

"Who was that?" John asked, genuinely interested. However, Sherlock interrupted her answer.

"Becky? Who calls you Becky? You've never let me call you Becky. You never let your mother call you Becky." He snapped, irritated.

"Sherlock." John warned.

"Sherlock, she's a friend. Her name's Beth. She's really nice and helped me find my way around." Rebecca explained

"A friend?" Sherlock asked suspiciously.

"Yes, Sherlock, a friend." Rebecca replied, now annoyed. "Am I not allowed to have friends?"

Sherlock didn't reply but instead walked around the edge of the room. John realised nothing more was going to be said between them or quite some time.

"So, are you alright here?" John asked, perching on the end of her bed. Rebecca sighed and nodded.

"I wasn't, but then I met Beth. She's here because her dad didn't look after her properly." Rebecca said simply, glaring at Sherlock.

"And you want to stay here?" Sherlock asked unexpectedly.

"I...I don't know..." She whispered. Then her eyes went blank, as if she was in a trance.

"Rebecca?" John asked, standing up and walking over to the side of the bed. He waved his hand in front of her face but Rebecca didn't respond. Now John understood why Rebecca had to stay here.

"Well, I think it's time to go now." Mycroft said. "I'll make sure a nurse is sent straight away." Mycroft put a hand on Sherlock's shoulder. Surprisingly, Sherlock didn't wince. He simply turned and walked out, not looking at his daughter again.

John opened his eyes. He was in his old room, which he had been given back now that Rebecca was in Hospital. Why had he woken? He remembered going to bed that night. He also remembered squeezing the pillow over his head, desperately trying to sleep. This hadn't been easy due to Sherlock's violin playing. He hadn't stopped playing since they'd got back from the hospital last evening. And yet John was aware that there was no violin playing now.

So why had he woken? One thing was for sure, he was never going to be able to get back to sleep now. He was contemplating whether or not to just read for a couple of hours until the sun came up, when he heard a creak coming from behind the door. Someone had stepped on the one creaky floorboard in the flat. Someone was in 221b, walking around.

He quietly grabbed his dressing gown and pulled on his slippers. He pushed the door open slightly and peered out. He could see someone. Someone leaving 221b Baker Street.

Sherlock.

**I probably should have warned you at the start of the chapter that there was going to be a change in time... Sorry if I confused you... This was the easiest way I could think of finishing it off and leaving enough to write in the next chapter. Hope you enjoyed it. Review?**


	7. A Conversation With the Dead

**Author's Note:**

**I know it' short but it got to a point where I just couldn't continue. It was so perfect :3**

**Enjoy and Review?:)**

By the time John had changed into clothes decent for public viewing, Sherlock was already a good ten minutes ahead of him. He grabbed his keys from the dish in case he couldn't find Sherlock before walking out into Baker Street. He inhaled the scent of London, picking up what could only be fish and chips. His stomach groaned but he ignored it. Right now, it was John's turn at being a detective.

Which way had Sherlock gone? Left or right? Or had he hailed a taxi? No, John hadn't heard a car pull up outside the house. Wherever Sherlock was going, he'd gone by foot. So left or Right? If he was going to the Hospital, he would have taken a left. But if he'd been going to the Hospital, he wouldn't have gone by foot.

So maybe he was meeting someone... Mycroft? John erased the idea form is brain immediately. Mycroft was not important enough to meet in the middle of the night. Lestrade? Again, not likely. Lestrade would refuse to meet Sherlock this late unless there was a worldwide disaster. Which there wasn't. Molly crossed his mind, but Sherlock had never really bothered with her. John knew she'd fly half way across the world for him, but he didn't picture Sherlock asking her to meet him. She annoyed him too much. Who else was important to him?

Irene.

So he'd taken a right. And walked half a mile to the graveyard she was buried in. Maybe he was still walking... If John was quick, he could probably get to the graveyard before Sherlock left. His feet began to move and soon he was striding through the streets of London, intent upon finding out what was wrong with his friend.

The graveyard was dark. No lights had been installed which made it difficult for John to see where he was going. On the plus side, if Sherlock was still her, it would make it harder for Sherlock to see John hiding in his chosen bush about twenty metres from the grave.

And John had been right. Sure enough, Sherlock was standing in front of Irene's grave, his hand affectionately caressing the stone.

John thought back to what Sherlock had said to him a few days before. He'd finally admitted his feelings for John. Feelings which John was beginning to have as well. But watching Sherlock at Irene's grave planted doubt into John's head. As he watched, he knew that deep down, Sherlock still loved Irene. And that shouldn't have made John's heart ache as much as it did. John sighed and listened intently to Sherlock's conversation with his dead wife.

"... But you already know that. You've had to put up with me for nearly sixteen years. I should have been a better father. I just wish I had seen it sooner. Seen you sooner. Seen Rebecca sooner. Seen you all for who you really are." Sherlock sighed, his voice caught in his throat as a tear trickled down his cheek. "Which is why I'm sorry. Because I do love you. I really do. But... I can't pretend any longer. What we had was different to what I have with him. I am sorry. And I love you. I promise I'll look after her. But I need to be with John now." He whispered the last bit and John wasn't even sure if he'd heard correctly. But John didn't care. He walked up to Sherlock and wrapped his arms around his chest.

"I'm here for you."

**Johnlock:3... OOOOOhhhh I love it!**


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